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The Egg who failed to hatch the egg
The Chronicles of The Egg who failed to hatch the Egg by Archmaester Don 238 years has passed since Aegon Targaryens conquest of the Seven Kingdoms and the creation of its seat of power, the Iron Throne in Kings Landing. Over the centuries, Aegons' city has prospered under the rule of his descendants... be they brutal and cruel as Maegor Targaryen or kind and zealous as Baelor 'the Blessed'. Centuries on, the city still stands in the late days of the year 8237, ruled by a descendant and namesake of the conqueror, Aegon Targaryen, the fifth of his name, who sits upon the Iron Throne. Aegon 'the unlikely' as he was also called, was the unlikely heir to the throne after his father, Maekar Targaryen, who died only a few years after his two firstborn sons. '' '' *Archmaester Don halts his pen, scratching his balls while pondering for a moment before continueeing his chronicle* But you all know the story of Aegons youth. His adventures with Ser Duncan The Tall and his kind heart as king... *Archmaester Don scratches his balls again before continueing* As Aegon grew older, he had come to dream of dragons flying once more above the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. In this, he was not unlike his predecessors, who brought septons to pray over the last dragon eggs, mages to work spells over them, and maesters to pore over them. And so, as Aegon came ever closer to the eternal grave that awaits us all, he became consumed by a search for ancient lore about the dragon breeding of Valyria. His search, as desperate and useless as it may have seemed, came to bear fruit after a long winter had come and gone. Word from Asshai-by-the-Shadow had reached the capital and the kings ear, speaking of the use of wildfire to hatch dragon eggs. And it is with wildfire that our story both begins and ends in the year of 8238 for the descendants of Aegon the Conqueror and the ever turning wheel he built. For the raven has abandoned the north and flown south, while the red dragon and its pegasus has sailed north. Only the wheel of Westeros has returned to its old ways as before the conquest... soiling the realm in blood. Ahem... so... wildfire *Archmaester Don takes a piss while dictating out loud to his young, slightly retarded student... Chocolate* '' A substance only few would dare to dabble with. Yet Aegon 'the Unlikely' gave it no second thought when he ordered his alchemists make use of the substance in an attempt to hatch his dragon egg. After all... all other attempts to breath new life into the targaryen sigil by his predeccesors had failed. Aegons alchemists had on his orders constructed a giant pool made out of clay in the cellars of the reed keep. The pool was to be filled with the liquid wildfire, and the dragon egg to be lowered into it once blessed by the High Septon at the great sept of baelor. It seemed as if Aegon still held the good graces of the gods in high regard despite his dabbling with the words of the shadow. *A knock is heard, and through the doors leading to the archmaesters chambers comes a short, fat boy, carrying a tray with the archmaesters dinner upon it* Aha, dinner! Chocolate, this is our new kitchen boy. He too is slightly retarded. We call him Vierwood, mainly because he tends to make the same foolish faces as those damned trees. Anyhow... back to our story!'' '' With Aegons alchemists and their wildfire beneath the red keep, only the blessing of the egg by the seven were now needed. For this, Aegon Targaryen summoned his council, there among his noble hand, lord Gerold Lannister and his fierce master of arms, Lyonel Baratheon. Even the crown prince, Duncan 'the Small', were summoned to attend the ceremony at the great sept by the king. As this caravan of royals, councillors and noble lords moved through the streets of capital like a speciment of the fabled giant snakes from the jungles of Yi Ti, the lord commander of the kingsguard, sir Duncan 'the Tall'... this giant that he seemed to be in comparison to ordinary men, rode with Egg by his side as if they were both the mighty head and fangs of this beast... although... one fang did seem significantly bigger than the other. *Archmaester Don hears a sound from the courtyard of the citadel. As he looks out the window, he sees the stablemasters boy, Jbutton, sitting on his ass in the middle of the yard, bathed in moonlight and with a fairly large rock in his right hand. The boy seemingly exclaiming his love for tits again and again while smashing beatles and any other small insects that dares to cross his path. Archmaester Don shakes his head and continues his story...* '' Before the great sept of Baelor, the High Septon... whatever this ones name was... spoke the sevens blessings as he held the dragon egg in his hands. The egg covered by thick white velvet with a seven pointet star upon it. But as the High Septon said his holy words and the king and all his men knelt before the seven and the yet unborn dragon, a noice... almost similar to the roar of a dragon, were heard from the red keep. Seconds later, a sharp green glimse burst from within the keep and through the great doors to the throne room. The heat and wrath from the burst so mighty, surely all who witnessed it thought a dragon of wildfire had come from beneath the castle. At that moment, the substance made by the alchemists guild truely earned its name as the wildfire consumed the red keeps great stone walls and everything within. The fiery hot fire melted the outer ramparts of Maegors keep and spurs of the devilish liquid spurred from the keep, quickly igniting fires throughout the city below. '' '' '' ''*Archmaester Don pauses for a moment as the door to his chamber goes up once more... his personal chamber-pot-emptier, Drewid, walsing in to do his business* So... the capital burned and the once so mighty seat of power of the Seven Kingdoms atop Aegon's hill had vanished in the burning inferno. Of course... it '' ''was not only stone and rock that the wildfire melted away, but also every lowborn and royal alike still in the red keep. '' In this terrible fire, all of Aegons kin died... and suddenly the world had only two targaryens left to contend with. It was Aegons luck, as well as every lord's with him, that the sept of Baelor laid far from the red keep and atop Visenya's Hill, initially sparing it from the all consuming fires that had begun ravaging the city of Kings landing. Now one would think that such a disaster, claiming so many lifes, would be the worst that could befall the continent. But what happened after the tragedy of Kings Landing would see the wrath of the wildfire pale in comparison...'' '' For this next part of our story, we will need the new boy, Chocolate. The one we took in for his master drawing skills. Go fetch him and tell him to bring his canvas and tools. *Chocolate heads out and down the great corridor away from the archmaesters chambers, going past the entrance to the great library to the lower levels. He makes a right, then a left and then another right, till he stands before a small wooden door. Before entering, he notices strange noices coming from within, but takes no notice of it. Opening the door, what meets his eyes would burn a terrible memory in his mind for years to come. He shortly after returns to the archmaesters chambers with the new boy* So, did you find him Chocolate? Did you find Dumble? *Chocolate takes a deep breath before quietly nodding and mumbling something about the new boy Dumble and maester Amr lying naked in bed together when he came to fetch him* '' '' Ahem, I see, very well. Let us get on with our story now. Dumble... ehm... start painting as I describe. Seeing the fire spreeding and the small folk of the city throwing themselves into a wild panick, Lord Commander Duncan 'the Tall' of the kingsguard took decisive action and lead the way for Aegon and Duncan 'the Small' to the docks of the city. Meanwhile, the other great nobles that had been present at the great sept of Baelor... notably lord Gerold Lannister and lord Lyonel Baratheon, had found horses and ridden hard for the Lion Gate, knocking or cutting down any and all who stood in their way. At the docks, Aegons kingsguard seized a small trade ship from a party of confused Pentoshi merchants. As the royal party boarded the ship, a young man came tumbling towards the boat, dressed in a fine red tunic with a lion upon it, dirtied by the heavy cloud of dust and smoke hanging over the city. the boy, barely a man, halted and with gasping breath pleaded for passage with the king and his son. The towering Duncan 'the Tall' who stood in his way blatantly denied the young mans desperate request, giving him a hard push to the chest as he send him stumbling backwards. With the sea of wildfire to his back and his only rescue in front of him, the young man drew his sword and swong it with all his strenght at the lord commander. Duncan, though big, easily evaded the strike as he drew his own sword, blocking a second attack. A riposte quickly followed by Ser Duncan, and the young man fell to the ground with Duncan's sword burried deep in his chest. So who was this boy you might be wondering? Well, he was the firstborn son of the lord of Casterly Rock. Tytos 'the Laughing Lion' Lannister, who had joined the kings party unnoticed at the great sept of Baelor. '' '' And so it went. House targaryens dominion over the Seven Kingdoms crumbled in a matter of hours as the capital city burned, and Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne melted away. But the world would come to know in the years after the tragedy of Kings Landing, that the flame of the dragon had not been all extinguished, but still burned as an ember would in a dying fire from not just the ancestral seat of Dragonstone... In the south across the deserts of Dorne, all the way to house Martells stronghold, Sunspear, the young princess Obera Martell ruled at the tender age of twenty and three years. Obera Martell was the daughter of the late prince Olyvar Martell, and so also the grandchild Daenarys Targaryen. Sister to King Daeron 'the Good' Targaryen. When word of the events that had transpired in the capital reached Sunspear, Obera Martell, though not a particular cunning nor ambitious woman, saw herself as the heir apparent to the crown that the last targaryens had failed to preserve. And so ravens flew from the highest tower of Sunspear to all the great lords of Westeros, naming Obera Martell Queen by blood and the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Obera's words reached far and wide, but support for her claim was scarce. Only one great house sent a raven back, pledging to support her claim with its gold, men and grain. This house, was the Tyrell's of the Reach... '' With the support of house Tyrell, Obera thought her reign all but certain... at least in the south. But one could not have been more naive than her, for to the North... '' ''* Dumble breaks in and asks if the archmaester means house stark?* No you halfwit! HOUSE BARATHEON! *Archmaester Don hits the boy over the head, then continues* '' ''For to the north, Lyonel Baratheon, the one they called the Laughing Storm, kin of Orys 'the One-Hand' Baratheon, proclaimed that no other than house Baratheon could be the heirs to Aegon the Conquerors crown. After all, Lyonel's ancestor Orys had been part blood of the dragon and descendant of the Valyrians. Among the lords of the realm, Lyonel's claim certainly had more legitimacy than Obera Martells, but nonetheless... Lyonel did not meet any more support than his now foe to the south. Like Obera, only one of the great houses of the realm answered his rally to war - house Lannister of the West. '' ''So war it was, as the sands of Dorne and the golden rose of the Reach marched against the lone Stagg of Storms end. But one should never underestimate the patient and ever prawling Lion to the West. To the North... *Dumble breaks in and asks if the archmaester means house baratheon then?* One would think, halfwit... but no. *Archmaester Don roles his eyes in irony* You see, the south may have housed more than one pretender to the crown of Westeros, but to the North, men cared not for some dragon crown and an uncertain contenent to perhaps one day rule. They cared for gold. Gold and land... For while the southern houses had thrown themselves into war over titles and rights, the most western part of the realm, the Iron Islands, from which house Greyjoy ruled, had crowned Urrigon Greyjoy their king, and laid claim to their ancient ways of pillaging and reaving. But Urrigon saw opportunity beyond calling himself king of the same pile of rocks his house had dominated for centuries. Once the Hoare's of Harrenhal had ruled the Riverlands, before Aegon the Conqueror burned every last one of them alive in their castle of Harrenhal. Now, once more, an Iron born would rule both the rivers and the sea. And so, with a mighty host of fierce iron born warriors assembling to the west, Hosteen Tully rode north to the towers of the crossing, where he would hold council with the young Edwyle Stark of Winterfell and many of his bannermen. This 'council across the river' as it would come to be known as, saw a lord of house stark bow once more to a foreigner, like his ancestor had done before him so many years ago, and a River King rise from the muddy and cold waters of the trident. King Hosteen Tully would lead the alliance of River and Snow against not only salt and iron to the west, but another foe as well. One who had not truely ridden out from beyond their mighty walls for many years... House Arryn... the oh so proud falcon lords of the eastern mountains and vales. Jasper Arryn of the Eyrie were no exception to the anarchy that occured when the capital of the Seven Kingdoms fell. Upon word reaching the Eyrie, Jasper had the bloody gate closed, and shortly after ravens could be seen leaving from atop the mountainous Eyrie, bearing the message that house Arryn once again ruled as Kings of the Mountain and the Vale. Though Jasper had closed his gates, they would not stay shut for long. For he, much like Urrigon in the west, did not contend with a crown and the pride that followed it. Instead, he too looked beyond his own realm, and like the Iron born, his eyes fell upon the prosperous Riverlands, who had been a thorn in the side of house Arryn ever since the lands were united under the banners of house Tully. For centuries the attractive trade from the Narrow Sea had flown past Gulltown and onwards south, to the capital or through the large rivers who had stood under the protection of Riverrun. So with his crown came ambition, and so King Jasper Arryn and all his knights of the Vale made preparations to ride through the bloody gate and beyond. But the wars to be in Westeros were not the only dangers to be faced by those who wished for nothing but peace and stability - mainly the small folk I imagine. For in the sea between the Vale and the North, in the icy waters of the bite, an army from Essos had landed, and within a fortnight the host had driven house Sunderland from their lands and south across the narrow passage to the Scorched Vale. This army that had so blatantly landed on the Island group were lead by a man of tender years, yet already famous across the Narrow Sea. His banners red, and upon the blood, a black dragon with three heads rose. Maelys Blackfyre was his name, and with him he brought the wrath of the exiled and hunted Blackfyre bastards. Maelys' host was surely one to be feared, but the elderly man that followed him to the islands upon his golden pegasus, and with the Golden Company at his back had already shown his prowess in battle years before, and so those who yet lived to remember his name as if their own, would once more face a man only few men could rival, be they living or dead. '' '' However, one such man to rival the red pegasus still lived, though many surely had forgotten him as he watched the Wall wearing black for many years. But those who were at the battle of the Redgrass Field would not likely forget his banners till their death bed. The lone white dragon with red eyes, and the bright red flame that spew from its mouth upon what could be mistaken for a sea of black grass. This man and his men who were once feared warriors... an elite guard who once served under Aegon 'the Unworthy'. Lord Bloodraven he was called by many, though his name was Brynden Rivers, as befitted bastards spawned from river folk. Together with his half-brother, Aegor Bittersteel, the red pegasus, he was the last of Aegon IV Targaryens so called 'Great Bastards'. And as fate would have it, his greatest enemy was also his own kin, Bittersteel... who had cunningly evaded banishment to the Wall under Bloodravens reign as hand of the king. Ironically enough, Brynden would later on be banished to the Wall himself by Aegon 'the Unlikely'. As it turned out, Lord Bloodravens watch on the Wall would not be for life as the oath he swore clearly said. Instead, following the burning of Kings Landing he would abandon his post as lord commander of the Nights Watch, traveling south as an oathbreaker and deserter. As sightings of the white dragon spread south from the North and across the Riverlands, many lone knights and men skilled at arms left their fires in their homes to meet this legendary man who many had thought punished wrongly for his actions years before. Brynden's road south would come to a halt at the castle of Harrenhal. House Whent, the then lords of the castle and its lands had been struck by misfortune both in the past and in the present, seeing lord Donnel Whent went going missing after his trip to the capital... To meet Bloodraven and the men who had sworn their loyalty to him beneath the walls of the castle was lord Donnel Whents younger brother, Lucas Whent. Lucas Whent wasn't exactly a man of any notice, nor would he later become one, and so his own men made their choice, and their choice was Bloodraven. Whent and his young son were graciously enough spared and expelled from the castle by Brynden, though he could've slaughtered them both if he so had wished. Taking Harrenhal had given Bloodraven a home, and a home it would be for not only himself, but also the many men who would come to follow him. '' '' These men were the so called rogue princes, though they were not titled so officially. Lastly and not to be forgotten was the ambitious and rather effective lord Lucifer Darklyn. He was no great lord nor a forgotten prince with a claim to anything. No... he was a man of efficiency and action. A man who raised himself and his house high above the stale position they had lived in for centuries, even long before Aegons conquest. For Lucifer Darklyn saw not a posibility to further his house by swearing his banners to a great lord of the realm when the Iron Throne succumbed to wildfire. Instead, he saw himself as a rising great lord of this new realm. He would no longer be known as merely a lord, but as a Shadow King of a greater Duskland realm than any of his ancestors who had previously worn the crown had ruled over. Long live King Lucifer Darklyn of the Shadow and Dusk. *Archmaester Don looks with tired eyes at his help, both also seemingly exhausted from chronicling his story* And so we come to the end of our story, and the beginning of a new. '' '' But what happened to Egg, his egg and the rest of the party that had left Kings Landing on a Pentoshi merchant ship? Well, Aegon 'the Unworthy', his son Duncan 'the Small' as well as his kingsguard lead by Duncan 'the Tall' would survive the fire of Kings Landing, sailing for Dragonstone, the ever standing refuge for house Targaryen. But what events thereafter transpired we must save for another day, for that is a whole other story... *Archmaester Don's eyes rest upon the last candle still burning in the chambers... its flame almost extinguished* *Turning to the last few empty pages of parchment in the great book, Chocolate suddenly looks at the archmaester as he asks if there should be no mention of the so called white raven?* Ah yes, the so called 'White Raven'. A man known to many, yet his travels and life were largely coated in mystery. I suppose it would only be fitting to refer to him as the 'White Raven' for the time being. A mysterious nickname befitting an equally mysterious man. You see, the White Raven was a man of noble blood, yet his mind and being were more so like that of a humble lowborn... though a humble lowborn would probably never rise to such fame as he did. His fame would derive from his life in Westeros, although, in my opinion, his travels across the Narrow Sea in Essos should be credited as the true sources of this mans legendary legacy. But sadly, only we learned men of the citadel recognstize fame in other forms than that of glory on the battlefield, golden crowns and peasant tales of godly wonders. You see, the White Ravens travels took him not only to the glamorous Free cities along the western coast of Essos. Not just to the ancient remnants of Old Valyria in Volantis, or to the mountainous regions of Qohor. They took him further east, to the fabled lands of Yi Ti and even to Asshai-by-the-Shadow. Places no learned man had gone before, but only heard of through the mouths of dishonest sailors who claimed to be gods of the sea with mermaids for wifes.... It was in Asshai that the White Raven would come across something even those called shadowbinders referred to as merely a legend. Perhaps it was because they had never dared go where the White Ravens path would lead him... to the Heart of the Shadow. The fabled ancient ruins of Stygai, the city of the Night. Despite being the only known person to venture into the ruins and return, little is known about what delves within, as the one man who had now gone there refused to speak of the lands in the shadow till his dying breath. Although.... it is speculated by many that the White Raven did in fact speak of his venture into the city of the night to one person. A man he would come to meet, as fate would have it, in a golden tent surrounded by a ring of pikes, topped by gilded skulls. The tent? Well the tent belonged to Aegor Bittersteel, the captain-general of the Golden Company. And it was in this tent that the White Raven and Aegor Bittersteel would come to trade items far more valuable than gold and gems. One of Valyrian steel, and one whose origin can be traced back to the ancient ruins of Stygai... '' '' *The candles flame finally extinguishes* _________________________________ Recorded knowledge by the citadel on the item brought from Asshai-by-the-Shadow to Westeros by the White Raven Perhaps one can best describe the item from the mysterious city at the Heart of the Shadow... as the spawn of a dragon. For much like dragon eggs known from the time of the Valyrian Freehold or later recorded history, this strange item had a similar appearance. Scaled and hard on the outside, one could perhaps think it an ordinary dragons egg if one were to lay eyes on it from a distance. But something strange had touched the egg and the hatchling within it. It has been speculated by many wise men of the citadel in the years following the great turmoil Westeros went through, that the egg brought from Asshai by the White Raven, had originated not from the Shadow, but from the lands beyond it. From the plains, jungles and mountains not yet mapped by any known maester or learned man, yet embroiled in mystery and legend... Surely it was the egg of a dragon, but something dark had touched it... molded it. It is even speculated that whatever magic or strange treatment had been exercised upon the egg, had made it survive the ages since times of legend. Days where they spoke of the ancient Great Empire of the Dawn, of ancient gods and their human children who lived to be a thousand years old. Days... if one of course assume these tales are not all figments of the imagination... where magic had a tight grasp on all life throughout the world. But regardless of the eggs age, it could not be disputed that what had once been a dragon egg like any other, now where something half dragon, half shadow. For though scaled and hard, a dim display of whirling shadows... yes almost light, could be seen around the egg. But what this strange fate that had befallen the egg meant for the hatchling within, the realm would find out soon enough... But what they say in the far east may hold true. That only dead may pay for life... and if so, what twisted creature could be something neither dead nor alive, yet still die of old age or from a large enough and well placed bolt through the heart? '''' Current Active Players (with pages) House Bittersteel - Chocolate House Martell - Gamble House Baratheon - Zier House Blackfyre - Prometheus House Royce - Pvt "Bitches" Bob House Harlaw - Jewid Category:Game of Thrones Category:ASOIAF Category:Roleplay Category:CK2 Category:Blackfyre Category:Westeros Category:The Golden Company Category:Bloodraven